


Mr United States

by blueishmoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueishmoon/pseuds/blueishmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s beauty and he’s grace he’s Mr United States</p><p>“Egg whites and boiled chicken only, give me that, ya punk,” Bucky says, snatching the croissant from Steve's fingers. </p><p>“When this is over I’m going to beat you to death with a leg of boiled chicken," Steve says, more seriously than Bucky's ever heard him. "And then I’m gonna eat a hamburger on your corpse, you jerk.”</p><p>"Man, the FBI changed you, Rogers," Bucky jokes, although he hands back over part of the croissant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr United States

**Author's Note:**

> So I was trying to write a really long, serious, canon-related MCU fic and then I saw [ this post and my whole brain just went WHAT THE HELL.](http://dearbucky.tumblr.com/post/84898796932/hes-beauty-hes-grace-hes-mr-united-states)

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Barnes,” Assistant Director Philips sighs in a way that Bucky has become incredibly well acquainted with in the five years he’s been with the Bureau, but it doesn’t deter him, not this time. 

“Oh excuse me,” Bucky says, still ignoring the chair he’d been asked to sit in. Philips is slumped in the chair behind his desk in a way that says he knew what kind of fight he’d have on his hands and doesn’t give a shit. Doctor Erskine is sitting on the couch over on the other side of the office, watching them like someone who’s been promised a particularly good tennis match on tv. “Are you fucking kidding me, _sir_?” 

“Look, you near had your entire arm blown off less than two months ago, by all rights I shouldn’t even be putting you in the field at all, let alone heading an operation like this,” Philips says, acting like he’s doing Bucky a _favor_. 

“A beauty pageant is not ‘the field’,” Bucky says, finally slumping down into the chair. Yep, still as uncomfortable as ever. Bucky suspects Philips ordered it special, to discourage people from prolonging their stay in his office. Not a bad move, all things considered. 

“It’s not a beauty pageant,” Philips says, picking up a sheet of paper and reading off of it. “It’s a ‘ _scholarship competition that showcases a variety of skills, qualities and debates of the best and brightest young men that America has to offer’_.” 

“They get judged in speedos,” Bucky points out. 

“See, you’re knowledgeable about the competition already,” Philips says, dropping the paper back onto his desk. 

“Sir, I’ve taken down warlords and drug kingpins,” Bucky says. “All by myself, no task force necessary.” 

“And you’ve gotten shot every damn time,” Philips says calmly. Bucky wants to point out the first one was really a graze, but Philips turns the glare on him full throttle and he remains silent. “And maybe if you can get through this assignment without almost dying we might let you back at your usual cases.” 

“Look, even if I did want to work this case,” Bucky starts. “Which I’m not saying I do, but the best way to get the intel we need on the kinds of threats that have been made is to send someone in undercover. Now I know I’m a prime specimen of a man, but I’m not so sure a competition like this, however progressive they claim to be, will vote through someone who’s like, twenty-five percent scar tissue.” 

“Which is why you’re _leading_ the task force, not going undercover,” Philips says with a look that says he’s beginning to regret ever having hired Bucky. “Christ. Erskine, take him away, explain things to him, before I change my mind and send him back to data entry.” 

“Sir, I haven’t even said I’ll take the case,” Bucky says as Erskine ushers him out of the office. 

“You’re expected in Dallas three weeks from Monday, along with your team and your undercover,” Philips shouts after him. “Don’t go over budget or I will take it out of your salary.” 

The door shuts behind them while Bucky is still trying to come up with a proper retort. 

“This deserves a coffee, yes?” Erskine says, and Bucky doesn’t have it in him to snap at the man. It’s Erskine. Everybody loves Erskine. “Or perhaps something stronger.” 

It’s three in the afternoon. Bucky shrugs in agreement and they end up half an hour later in one of the local dives that’s tucked away on the second floor above a chinese food restaurant, away from tourists, journalists and politicos. 

“You realize Yuengling isn’t actually Chinese, right?” Bucky asks after Erskine orders two bottles for them, along with a side order of scallion pancakes and vegetarian spring rolls. 

“It’s all they serve,” Erskine says with a shrug. “Now, about the assignment.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, peeling at the label on his beer bottle. “This is a test right?” 

“Everything is a test,” Erskine says. “All of life is a test.” 

“Right,” Bucky sighs. “So who are we thinking for our UC? Clint?” 

“Clint is certainly in shape for it, but there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to hold his tongue in interviews. We think he wouldn’t be able to to make it past the state level, which would cause problems if this becomes a longer-term investigation,” Erskine says. 

“Okay, but you clearly have someone in mind already or we wouldn’t be here,” Bucky says. “Please tell me it’s not that asshole Namor, or I might have to reevaluate this whole thing.” 

“I’ve spent some time going over qualified agents and it’s my opinion that the only man for this particular op is Agent Steven Rogers,” Erskine says, taking a sip of his beer like he hasn’t just said the craziest fucking thing ever. 

“Steven,” Bucky says, boggling. “Steve Rogers. Little Stevie Rogers.” 

“You do not like him?” Erskine says innocently, but Bucky’s not buying it. 

“You know that’s not true,” Bucky says, grateful when the food arrives, giving him a second to organize his thoughts. “Steve’s my friend. You know that.” 

“And so I would’ve thought you’d be happy to work with him again, you’ve always worked together well, taken down some really bad guys together,” Erskine says, helping himself to three out of four spring rolls. “So what is your objection.” 

“Steve is the best analyst the Bureau has, but he’s never been in the field,” Bucky argues. “You really wanna risk the best tactical brain in the FBI to protect a bunch of vain himbos?” 

“You call them ‘himbos’ but this competition is harder than it looks,” Erskine says, glancing at Bucky like he just might be failing the test. “It is a scholarship competition and they mostly market the physical aspects of it, yes, because they know that is what will bring in viewers, and thus money, but the contestants have to have good test scores, must be knowledgeable on a number of subjects in culture, science, and current events that they are quizzed on live, and must have skills above the average student in order to make it this far in the competition. And even if none of that was true, if it was a competition full of ‘himbos’ as you say, do they really deserve to die just because you find them shallow?” 

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t follow up on these threats,” Bucky argues. “I’m just saying, if it’s as dangerous as the Bureau thinks, should we really be shoving Steve out in the middle of it?” 

“If your friend is as smart and as talented as you keep saying he is, maybe you should try having a little faith in him,” Erskine says gently. 

“Well maybe it’s not _Steve_ that I don’t have faith in,” Bucky says, pointedly rolling his still-injured shoulder. He’s made far more progress than the doctors had initially anticipated, but that doesn’t mean he’s got the same range of motion he used to, or that it’s anywhere near pain free. “Besides, like I said before, they get judged in _speedos_. I’m not saying Steve doesn’t have his own kind of charm, but I’m not sure he’s what they’re looking for in this kind of competition.” 

“Oh,” Erskine says, his face clearing slightly. “Agent Barnes, when was the last time you saw Agent Rogers, face to face?” 

“Uhh,” Bucky tries to think. For all that he and Steve text, email and talk on the phone practically every day, they don’t actually get to see each other face to face that often. He relies on Steve for tactical advice, for information, for Steve’s pitch-perfect gut feeling about people, but half the time Bucky is out in the field while Steve looks at the big picture back at headquarters, helping out Bucky whenever he can. He thinks maybe Steve visited him in the hospital a couple of times after the last time he’d been shot, but he’d been pretty drugged up, so he’d thought that hallucinating a larger, more muscular Steve had been nothing more than a fever dream. The way that Erskine is looking at him though, he’s beginning to think maybe not. 

“We have a month before the competition semi-finals,” Erskine says, decisively. “We tweak a few things and he will fit right in.” 

“Really?” Bucky says, squirming slightly uncomfortably. Okay so Steve had always been a little scrawny and awkward, hiding underneath too-large military jackets and hipster glasses and it had been, well it had been pretty attractive to start with. Bucky doesn’t want to think about what that would all look like with added muscles. 

“Really,” Erskine replies, throwing down a few bills on the bar even as Bucky chews through the last of the scallion pancakes. “I’ll see you and Rogers at the Bureau gym, seven am, monday morning.” 

“Awesome,” Bucky says, saluting with his mostly-empty beer bottle. “Can’t wait.” 

Yeah, he thinks. This isn’t going to be a disaster _at all_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and update this every few days. (fingers crossed)
> 
>  
> 
> [ I'm on tumblr now, although I'm new (ish) there so there isn't much on my blog yet, but I expect it to be like, 85% Captain America feelings, 15% water.](http://blueishmoon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
